


Last Cadences

by FicticiousDelicious



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Complete, DO NOT REPOST MY FANWORKS, Depression, Despair, Drama, Emotional Hurt, Homosexuality, M/M, Modern, Music, No Sex, Punk, Self-Harm, Sincere, Suicide, Transgender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:55:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21640549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FicticiousDelicious/pseuds/FicticiousDelicious
Summary: With his life destroyed by the unfortunate worldly cold of failures and struggle, Bazzard Black will break and an eccentric stranger will get swept up in it..Not an easy story to stomach, you've been warned.This story is COMPLETE!This is an Ao3 exclusive story! You'll only find it here.!!Disclaimer!! I do not own the characters mentioned in Last Cadences nor do I make any profit of any kind from their mention. Ownership of these Bleach characters goes to Tite Kubo. All Characters © Tite KuboDeviantArt.com/FicticiousDelicious or FicticiousDelicious.Tumblr.com
Relationships: Bazz-B/Grimmjow Jaegerjaques, GrimmBazz, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez/Bazz-B, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez/Bazzard Black
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. The Snow

A fanfiction written by FicticiousDelicious.

_‘Look he’s smiling!’_

_‘Man, I wish you were always around!’_

_‘This is great, thank you.’_

The cold frost of a hard life settles below the endless snow.

Growing up hadn’t gone as planned for one eccentric adult fellow known as Bazzard Black. He was some kind of determined right from the start, a stormy mixture of _complex_ traits, and he was anything but typical. He’d left his job after so long, years wasted there; he couldn’t handle the stress of it anymore. He just wanted to hang himself, drown or cut himself apart and bleed out on the floor after failure sank its teeth in, but this wasn’t who he was, who he _really_ was. Before this mess Bazzard had such a burning passion for life that it dwarfed all those around him as he burned brightly. He wasn’t the best but once he was enough for himself, a great man who struggled and overcame. Now though…he was _weathered_. He retained no friends. Not for his lack of trying…he’d tried very hard in life to communicate and work but he just wasn’t doing well anymore, and because of that people started to avoid him, or he them. Unfortunately for Bazz without a job he either had to be homeless or live with his relatives…in financial desperation he chose wisely, or so it seemed at first.

_‘You’re lazy and should be grateful that you live here.’_

Bazzard Black was an intense man, good-looking for a punk and queer but he was quite smart, often too smart for his own good though not top of his class because he was unconventional, he was loud and intimidating too…and _aggressive_. This combination of traits made him a very dangerous and dominant person but he wanted to be kind and do good. He was criticized harshly for being aggressive and loud, as though he was demonic, but the only times he’d ever been harmful with his traits were accidental and in self-defense. ‘Why’ never mattered much for a man like this though; ill perception of men his type had already pre-damned him.

_‘No wonder they don’t want to be around you.’_

Nothing about criticism bothered Bazz until he became weathered by failure, because the criticism now sewed doubts. Having decided to live with relatives, being financially supported by one’s parents again was a _humiliating_ step down from having a decent job for a mid-twenty-year-old. His parents let him in the house but they didn’t exactly receive him well. Bazz was grateful for a place to live. He maintained tact, sense, honesty and sincere communication but his family’s patience was gone _fast_. Bazzard’s humble attempt to be so positive was taken as him being fine, so why was he here on their doorstep? Instead of being sincere back his family started to get irate, berating and looking down on him for having every advantage but just being plain _lazy_ , _paranoid_ , and _freakish_ – the cause of him coming back to sponge off of them. Afraid to be kicked out he didn’t defend himself this time; being homeless would not make this better he thought, but that would become a regrettable mistake and allowing them to treat him like that certainly wasn’t true to himself. In reality Bazzard was anything but fine, and silently he was loathe to be treated so badly as though his achievements before meant nothing to his worth now. All the while his judgmental parents, who had once praised his deeds, had no qualms about coddling his sisters still living at home. Now Bazzard remembered why he’d gotten out of this noxious place… It reeked of resentment. Trapped here for now, he was just a sign of failure and he had lost energy to deny it the more he was reminded. Not intending to be a sponge or resentful Bazz tried to be more sincere and apologize by helping around the house but his parents were still unhappy with him. What a burden on their conscience he must have been.

_‘I don’t want to hear it.’_

It was not that Bazzard wanted to wallow or sponge, but he was almost too much for his parents to tolerate, so they did not listen and thus did not understand how badly he wanted to recover and could not be bothered to help much. He seemed to be a sign of their failures, a sign they wished to forget.

_‘I just don’t want to be a parent anymore.’_

Blood was thicker than water but not stronger stuff it seemed as it ran out just as fast… Bazzard’s _adult_ sisters at home were as bad as his parents in a different way. In the past dear dangerous Bazz had never bothered either of his younger sisters unless they did him disservice first – and they had, many times. Poking and prodding…shoving and hitting… He could take that but didn’t let them get away with it. They didn’t like his aggression. How dare he fight back. How dare a boy that should be able to take it _defend_ himself. That was just how dangerous Bazzard chose to be. His sisters never liked him much and there was more to that: even as a grown man Bazz was still prettier and smarter than his sisters, had snagged a fulltime job, graduated school with better grades and more accomplishments unintentionally casting a shadow over them. Bazzard was intimidating and weird yet he was anything but a bully. With his upper hand he could have been the constant evil big brother, but he chose _differently_. These nasty little women damned their own brother for being anything and everything that made them look at themselves and wish that they could have what he had; even leftovers now that Bazzard seemed like he was falling apart. They could smell his failures and they sought to make his life a cold, hollow hell. They were rude, passive-aggressive and mercilessly resentful. Perhaps it was the fault of parenting, but when siblings devour one another…the world runs red with familial blood, and this time Bazzard was in too delicate of a position to fight back.

_‘My other children don’t have problems.’_

A whole house of negativity couldn’t be less helpful to Bazz, more a poison for the weathered of mind. He’d chosen what he thought was the lesser evil. Not oblivious to the peril this noxious environment created Bazzard did not want to stay in this pit. He still quietly loathed how he was treated. Anything that he had the strength left to do he would, and he wouldn’t step on anyone for it. He could have been entitled and evil right back but he didn’t want to become that. A great person… For months now Bazz had tried to put himself back on track, to get working somewhere that he could’ve succeeded, but what employer in their right mind would hire someone with weathered self-confidence and a long streak of unemployment? Not to mention someone _not_ normal looking…with a pink mohawk and a pierced face. He couldn’t fake normalcy or happiness – any of it. Bazz was genuinely different, but he couldn’t prove that it meant anything without his confidence. Unable to find an accepting job he failed many times and sadly it sometimes brought back the idea of simplifying the mess of his life: just dying, ending it and being done. What did he have to live for anyway? Only a small _ambiguous_ part of him, left up to luck, sometimes flared to form a remnant: a little determination, a tiny, _lucky_ flame, and the only thing that kept him going. Not a man to be undone easily, he sharpened other talents and skills between failed interviews and attempted to market those independently but found his verve was just too dead to sustain. After a few more failures it was stone cold. He could no longer be inspired; he had no confidence in himself and no one was encouraging him. Bazzard’s small flame was dying, the harder he tried to stoke it the more it choked.

_‘If you pierced your face it would just be hard to look at you.’_

At first Bazzard’s family ignored him…but that changed…

_‘We’ve never had the same interests, why should I care?’_

While growing up Bazzard burned hugely with love for life and others’ lives, amplified by the times when he had money, a respected status and the capability to help take care of the people he cared about. He used to visit, buy random presents, pay his bills, share armfuls of groceries, maintain his car and juggle responsibilities. He could have been selfish and self-serving completely. No one had ever been a good role model to Bazz nor asked Bazzard to behave like this…he actually learned by seeing the opposite and decided he didn’t like the evil of it. He was a different sort of person, that Bazzard Black… Bazz was as dominate as they came, but so aggressive and capable yet kind and he grew into a great _and_ dangerous man. It was his pleasure to be better than what he’d seen and felt; to do what was good and hard not what was immoral and easy. He would take a stand when someone else was burning low; would someone not do the same for him? It was perhaps worse than being ignored but his family learned that he could still be useful, with no regard to Bazz himself, and they made him empty promises to their advantage. They gave him empty praise to try to get him out the door faster. They encouraged him to make more friends to get rid of him. Bazz needed a place to live so he didn’t fight what he started realizing were just ploys, but he certainly wasn’t getting any better.

_‘It’s your fault that you don’t have any friends.’_

Bazzard was good, somewhere he knew that he was still good! So why did he have to feel so bad? In his time of steep depression _none_ of Bazz’s deeds, past or present, counted much in his benefit. He was used then neglected in a never-ending cycle. He started hating himself…no matter how much he could still manage he didn’t feel like a man anymore. Destabilized, he wanted to beat his head upon a wall until he was unconscious…to rake the skin off of his arms with his nails…to put his fists through things until they were fat, swollen and throbbing with enough pain to redirect his focus or to make it blank seeking desolace. Not ignorant Bazzard was first loathe then frustrated then distressed and eventually just deeply depressed, but because he was not a bully nor taught to cope properly he bottled it all up…went to his corner…and ‘consoled’ himself from the fear that maybe there was no hope for him to recover his life. He was a tiny flame…getting too weakened to look for more fuel to burn… At night he would sometimes sit in bed and listen to his out-of-service phone for the music he had stored on it, hum the melody and reread old text messages from friends he no longer had…and cry. It was the only non-destructive comfort he had.

_‘You’ll get better when you want to.’_

Eventually Bazzard started to recognize that how he ‘consoled’ himself other than quiet nights reviewing old memories was actually making things worse. Razorblades, alcohol, starvation, self-lament and so much time alone… Friendless, he admitted his problems to the only people he could, his family, but they unsurprisingly pushed him away. Now he had nothing for them so they didn’t care; they said they were too busy for his problems and he was too hard to listen to. Skinnier than he’d ever been Bazzard was hardly eating and he usually didn’t feel well. He shambled around the house, wondering why he’d done this to himself. He’d stopped searching for jobs because every one of them kept turning him down. Bazz felt broken. His had been a plea for someone… _anyone_ …to love him enough to make him stop, or to beg him to stop destroying himself in misery. Mercy! But there was none. He hurt himself a lot more. How far the weathered and decent men would fall without a place in the world. Instead of turning rabidly upon those that wronged him when he had the strength to do so Bazzard turned inward on himself and ill feelings and aggression ripped himself apart. Asking for help this time was one of the last times, just a handful left, that anyone saw his strength in action…

Bazzard flipped a switch he didn’t think he had, he stopped talking to everyone. The silence was just easier than knowing that no one wanted to listen. It was easier than being used. It was easier than thinking that every caring and responsible deed he’d ever done in his life was worthless. It was easier…and it hurt no one but himself.

_‘You’re always upset about something!’_

Stuck with a somewhat comfortable house to sleep in, food to eat and water to drink though he seldom partook, somewhere to bathe and a place where he could at least _maybe_ have the resources to create better opportunities for himself – as opposed to the street – Bazzard remained grateful for _anything_ he still had but alone in misery none the less. Some days felt like a blizzard had swept him over onto the icy ground and buried him in frigid snow. Bazzard wondered if he would freeze, he was starting to accept the idea. It was heavy, suffocating and cold…even if he stood up he couldn’t see where he was going, and no matter how he struggled or plotted a route all he did was tire himself out. A tiny flame couldn’t penetrate so much cold. With anything proper he could find he tried to dig himself out of the drifts and wade through his problems, too many to solve, before an avalanche came and stopped his struggle forever… He’d nearly forgotten himself and his fangs and was just barely present of mind.

In reality his time was only one autumn to the next autumn, but the razorblade gales of cold peril were upon him unseasonably the whole way.

Read ALL my fanfictions on ArchiveofOurOwn.org. Art via: DeviantArt.com/FicticiousDelicious or FicticiousDelicious.Tumblr.com


	2. About Priorities

_‘Bazz, why don’t you come with us?’_

_‘You’re enjoying yourself!’_

_‘It’s always nice to see you.’_

They didn’t want me…they just wanted me to sit… _alone_.

During his time, autumn to autumn, Bazzard’s hold on telling his family anything was unfortunately ended by something that he had no control over.

_‘You’re paranoid.’_

Severely unfortunate. A preexisting lump in his pec had started to ache, which meant a doctor should go poking around at him to evaluate. Bazzard hated being touched… Once a very cuddly person he had a few particularly _disturbing_ experiences in his personal life and now he couldn’t even see himself allowing a partner to intimately touch him ever again. Sex was totally out of the question, and that was humiliating enough; he definitely kept that to himself but having a doctor palpate was almost as bad in his mind. Despite hating this more than he’d admit, the tiny flame in Bazzard’s mind was fearful. He had to _beg_ his mother to financially help him see a doctor, because his father wasn’t paying any attention, though she was more interested in paying for her daughter’s upcoming wedding. She did pay for the visit, if only to give herself one more thing to bitch about, but her unemployed son had to wait until _after_ the wedding…and he was assigned a hand in it. Despite worrying about his health Bazzard was helpful and patient. Perhaps that was an actual trade-off, but was it fair? At the doctor’s appointment his doctor, who had previously identified the same lump years ago, now said that Bazz was probably compressing tissue and making himself feel things differently. Bazz knew what he was feeling though. Bazzard’s mother heard of this, involved because of the payment, and encouraged her son to just think that he was paranoid.

_‘At least you won’t need anything else.’_

During the wedding that had taken priority over his health, Bazz was vaguely assigned a job and told what to wear but _not_ asked to be in the wedding party. Still he’d been patient, helpful…just be there, help out and get no recognition. He was fine with that, quietly hopeful that his doctor appointment would go well and considering it fair that he helped out in order to get help himself. Complacent in his delicate position… Fortunately though at the reception, where he was to do his job, Bazz hadn’t been instructed well. Why _fortunately?_ Well after the whole wedding and reception, when all his mother was doing was complain about the things that had gone wrong, yet basking in her first ‘successful’ child’s glow like it was all that made her valuable…Bazz found out through her bitching that they had wanted him to sit _alone_ by the door the _whole time_ as a door greeter to direct people and answer questions as well as manage the guestbook and gifts. Wearing an absurd dress, like he was told to, Bazz had _instead_ been walking around diligently with the guestbook, greeting people and watching the door as he moved around the room…but that still wasn’t good enough for them. His father didn’t have anything to say about it. Something about this stung Bazz’s heart for all the effort and patience he’d put forward out of almost no verve left for life itself. How could that not hurt? …and then his doctor’s appointment was shit. Nothing inciteful ever came of that visit and the lump continued to bother him. Bazz’s mother, who had agreed to pay for the appointment in full, even started to ‘forget’ her agreement of paying for it herself and reminded her broke son from time to time to pay her back. This was no fair trade-off, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, right?

This whole fiasco to attempt recovery over many months had taken so many chinks out of Bazz that the eccentric man was actually on the verge of breaking completely. He seriously stopped caring about his health because he didn’t feel worth it. Maybe if he got cancer from that lump he deserved it..?

One _year_ in this hellish pit, autumn to autumn, saw that life was getting harder and _harder_ to fix the longer it remained fucked up…and unfortunately there was another hurdle. This next autumn it was the other sister’s turn for a wedding. Somehow these nasty little women had both managed to hook themselves husbands, rest those men’s souls. So this wedding shit was happening all over again. _All of it_. Bazz’s skin crawled with unease… He was assigned the same role and had to reflect on fully knowing his lonely job: sit by the door, _don’t move_. All he wanted to do was flee from his task but he felt like he had to do this to be accepted in his parents’ house and to reconnect with his urges to be kind over cruel.

A most unwanted son with a most desirable quality.

Read ALL my fanfictions on ArchiveofOurOwn.org. Art via: DeviantArt.com/FicticiousDelicious or FicticiousDelicious.Tumblr.com


	3. Broken

The second wedding was in a stunningly scenic mountain area during autumn like the previous one while the trees were alight with colors like fire, and the event went as good as could be expected… The pesky bride and groom and their entourage were so immature and nervous and short of attention span that they barely listened during rehearsals so some things went really askew during the official ceremony. No one rejected the marriage though, so the goal of the whole thing was accomplished. At least there was that… Now that the vows were done, the procession was finished, guests and participants were shuffling slowly to get to the reception at another location and there was a little clean up to be done. Among them Bazzard was so easy to pick out. He had _defiantly_ worn a pink suit this time and not a dress as his dominant nature dictated with his small flame still alight, he couldn’t take the humiliation of a dress again; if he was to be here he would be here as _himself_. He was getting very tired of being asked why he wasn’t _in_ the wedding by those that knew he was related to the bride. He tried to be happy for his sister but she’d been as rude to him as ever, not unexpected, especially because he’d worn the suit. With all of the other things to pay attention to Bazzard wasn’t greatly phased for the worse by anything yet.

 _Without_ actively wishing doom upon anyone, as was beneath him, Bazz escaped after being screamed at for asking his relatives if anyone had unplugged the curling iron for his sister’s hair. Why? Men shouldn’t be in the ladies’ dressing area of course! Firstly, he hadn’t even gone into the room or he would have checked it himself. Secondly…it seemed like he was only a _man_ if it was convenient for them. Bazzard didn’t waste his breath arguing, leaving in his car he was swiftly on his way to get to the reception hall hopefully before anyone else to do his job _right_ this time. The one saving grace about today was that he got to breathe in the mountain air and see the fall turning of the leaves that were beautiful. Maybe that was why he was able to function so well on a difficult day. Bazzard smartly took quicker dirt roads to get to the reception hall faster than anyone else that might’ve left before him. It took a half an hour but he arrived in a gravel parking lot outside of a rustic and historic event hall in a small mountainous town in good time. After parking and making sure that his tied-back ponytail of a pink mohawk and suit were still smart, Bazz then hurried to get out of his car and hastened toward the reception hall. The scenic area he could see all around himself, the pure cool air and powerful mountains surrounding this place on all sides were impossible to miss even in haste. The majesty of the mountains… Gosh this small town was in such a cool location. Bazz didn’t see many cars and hoped he’d beat the guests here because he’d hurried and knew his way around. Feeling charged by the location and his capability to get where he needed to his tiny flame flared, one of the last times, he would need it to get through this again.

The few cars in the gravel lot belonged to several people already at the reception hall but they were just the paid hands to help and the DJ for the event, not guests. Bazzard walked inside the event hall with the clack of his sharp shoes’ heels mixing with light music playing on speakers around the room and from the stage before the dancefloor. A couple of the people glanced his way but Bazz looked away from them and just sat down on the lone chair waiting for him by the main entrance for the event hall. He would have checked on the DJ… He would have asked the caterers and people setting up decorations and food if all was well… He would have made sure that the number of chairs and tables were right… He would have been a more helpful big brother but his family had told him not to do _anything_ else aside from sit by the door and mind certain things – very _sternly_ this time. Guests. Guestbook. Gifts. _Nothing_ else. Noticing the guestbook already on the table but without anything to do yet Bazzard fiddled with his out-of-service phone at first. Thank god he’d remembered to charge it but he probably wouldn’t get good reception if he had the money for service at all, in the mountains especially. He had to pee…he looked around…no guests were here yet…so he got up and found the men’s restroom. After having a piss in one of the stalls and washing his hands before splashing cold water on his face Bazzard was startled by another man coming into the restroom and in a nervous haste he hurried off and went back to his post by the door – to check on the guestbook, he told himself.

The reception’s DJ turned slightly as the other eccentric-looking man had glanced at him nervously before hurrying away and he watched the restroom door close before sighing with a shrug and finding the urinals.

Bazzard could breathe a little relief as he got back to his post, seeing that there were still no guests yet. The guestbook was right where he’d left it and the gift table was set up and empty. Bazz flipped through the guestbook and smiled at the empty pages…a very forced smile that made his two lip rings gleam under the lights, and a ring in the side of his nose too. He _could be_ the first one to sign this thing! Defile it with his ink scrawling! Bazz decided not to though. He had nothing genuine to say and felt like insincerely signing away some good wishes was just wrong, and he didn’t want to do that when other people would have so many better things to say. His true self would have taken up an entire page in the many-paged book just to write his name and some weirdly fitting quote. Bazz’s flame choked a little. He was a family reject after all…and told to stay put and far away but at least he knew where he should be and how to do his job _right_ this time.

When guests and participants actually started arriving for the reception everything was in place, the DJ had changed the ambient music over to the requested playlist for the reception after his soundchecks and Bazz made sure as many people as he could catch at the door signed the guestbook and left their gifts at the table. Seeming content he arranged the gifts to look nice and stayed in his sentinel spot. When the bride and groom arrived the hall of guests applauded, only the groom nodded at their door greeter as the couple signed their guestbook before getting on into the room. Bazzard lowered his hands from clapping and stowed them on his lap as he turned to watch the newlyweds walking into the room across the dancefloor and going to their special table. For just a small moment he was excited for some ambiguous reason but it quickly faded as Bazz couldn’t help but feel a little pain as he watched the groomsmen greet their newly wedded cousin and the bridesmaids hug his sister, their friend, and the maid of honor hug her sister. Both sides’ parents hurried out of the throng of people and hugged their children with simpering happiness then everyone started clapping again with enthusiasm for a minute before the wedding party sat at their table. Bazz knew as a man he didn’t have a place with his sisters but…he was only a man when it was convenient for them. He was only smiled at when they wanted something. He was only loved when he was less trouble. They didn’t want his congratulations. They didn’t need him to care. It was the newlyweds’ day but at the cost of some humanity. Seeing this sort of event for the second time in his life and so far away Bazzard’s small flame choked on a hopeless sensation of longing and went out. That ambiguous excitement had been his desire to be glad for his family’s happiness. Now it was gone. Feeling horrible that he couldn’t be with his family and was instead so clearly unwanted Bazz looked away from the festivities getting on and put one earbud in as he plugged them into his phone and consoled himself with his music. Not even his parents had given him acknowledgement when they came in with the guests, just signed the guestbook and moved right on. They were probably seriously angry that Bazz had worn his pink suit too…but he didn’t deserve to be forced to wear a dress especially when he wasn’t in the wedding party. And he was doing his job! The only job he had right now…he had been very pleasant to every guest including his parents.

Bazzard tried to be oblivious unless someone approached his table, it was near impossible because there was so much noise, he was always looking over his shoulder to see what merriment was going on not with bitterness but longing. If he got up from his spot it would just get worse… The hired help accidentally forgot about him by the door and he got neither cake nor food and was not included for any toasts. It was almost too sad to be true. He felt so exiled that he didn’t try to make himself a part of it, any of it, all he could do was try to dissociate and wonder why he had ever done this to himself. He was so cold without his small flame, and by the draft from the door as the sun went down, that he really thought he was freezing now. Meanwhile the mother of the bride went around rabidly checking on everything to make sure that all was well, however Bazzard still wasn’t spoken to. He quietly sat, listening to the reception’s displeasing music and announcements from the DJ with one ear and his own more pleasing music with the other. Bazz got lost in his own thoughts or watched the rest of the room buzzing and having a good time and maybe could have tried to join and blend in but it was his sense of unwantedness and exile that kept him by the door. Even if he’d been exactly the help they’d asked for, even if he tried his hardest they didn’t want him celebrating with them. He’d done this to himself, right? They _didn’t_ want him in their family. A delicate situation felt broken.

Read ALL my fanfictions on ArchiveofOurOwn.org. Art via: DeviantArt.com/FicticiousDelicious or FicticiousDelicious.Tumblr.com


	4. Blowout

__

__

_‘I don’t think anyone else could have done it.’_

_‘Funny how things work out.’_

_‘You know, that’s not half bad.’_

The reception lasted for hours and at the end slowly guests and participants trickled out of the event hall until the last one was gone. It was evening. The mountains had gone cold and dark. The bride and groom had excitedly run off to their honeymoon; their day had been excellent. The bride’s mother had remained a rabid watchdog to the last to ensure that everything went well, not perfect but very well, and before leaving she collected the gifts and guestbook and left with their father. Not a word to Bazz, who was now one of the last to leave. Just the hired help remained to clean up the event hall. Quiet and depressed Bazzard knew at least he’d done his job right this time…even if it had cost him his flame, the only thing that kept him going. It had been for something, right? Bazz himself was leaving now, he’d waited until everyone else had left so that he wouldn’t meet anyone in the parking lot, and he was outside and thirty feet from the rustic and historic event hall when he realized in slight panic that he’d accidentally left his precious phone behind. Bazz rushed back with his dress shoes crunching gravel, mohawk’s tail flapping and lungs heaving the chilly mountainous air, it was dark and he couldn’t see as well but the stars above were bright without light pollution; the sky was a starry river strewn with strange bodies and galaxies. Perhaps the world wasn’t so dark as it seemed but Bazzard hadn’t noticed yet. Running to the entrance under a dim light Bazz was relieved to find the main entrance’s door still unlocked. He’d gone in quickly and turned rapidly to go to the table where he’d long been sitting. He stopped cold. The DJ was just standing there and had picked up his phone and attached headphones.

The other eccentric-looking man’s gaze came up. He’d only just picked the lonely device up and wasn’t tampering with it. “Hi.”

“Hey…” Bazz looked a bit nervous.

The blue-haired DJ offered a one-sided smile as he held out the device and attached headphones for the distinct doorman. “Yours, right?” He knew who’d been by the door this whole time; a good DJ didn’t miss a thing when reading the room from his platform.

Bazzard nodded and took his phone and headphones back. “Uh, thanks.” He still looked nervous but he was grateful.

“Didn’t like my sets much?” the DJ remarked with a grin.

Bazz felt himself start to sweat. Why was he still standing here?! He could just leave… “Not exactly my kind of music, but it was good for what it was.” The DJ’s eyes were kind of magnetic though, and why shouldn’t two eccentric people talk to each other?

“That’s the most polite ‘no’ I’ve ever heard, tiny bouncer. Don’t worry. You don’t look like the type for their basic bitch music.” The DJ sure wanted to hear what this other interesting looking guy had to say.

“What do I look like then?” Bazz challenged, his old self maybe remembering that it belonged somewhere…

“Like you don’t give a fuck.” The DJ chuckled with a bit of a grin, that was the only reason he was telling it like it was to this short guy in a pink suit. “Or worse! You’re probably a _metalhead_.”

 _Definitely_ Bazz’s cup of tea…a jockey of accurate judgements and music. “Punk actually!”

The DJ continued to grin. “Oh fuck…even worse. I didn’t know it could get _worse_.”

Bazz was fighting a grin, “Are _you_ a metalhead or something?!”

“Maybe…but rock’s ok too.”

“How do you tolerate EDM shit then?” Bazz narrowed his eyes, genuinely wondering.

“Eh, I don’t hate it, and it pays the bills. Grimmjow, my name.”

It was like this man had a fucking torch and it was practically burning Bazz but he didn’t mind the heat. “Bazzard, _Bazz_. Me.”

“Cool! Sounds like ‘buzzard’, are you a badass or something?” The broad-shouldered DJ crossed his arms kind of judgmentally and swayed comfortably on his feet.

Bazz crossed his arms too and shrugged, “I should be… Actually I just changed my name. I wanted something that sounded badass!” And male.

“Maybe you’ll grow into it.” The DJ’s shoulders lifted once then dropped casually. “This probably sounds weird but I haven’t broken down my equipment much yet…so do you want me rock you a short set? Since you didn’t like what the basic bitches requested. It’ll just be like listening to a big long song.” This guy still had no idea that this punk was related to the wedding party else he might’ve chosen words more carefully…but perhaps this gap in Grimmjow’s knowledge was for the better.

“Do I deserve that?” Bazz countered with a scoff that was half sincere.

“Uuuh… _everyone_ deserves to hear music they like.” Like it was common sense.

Bazz’s eyes livened up as he realized that this was just way too nice, but he’d take it anyway. This cool guy wanted to play him some music and it wouldn’t hurt to listen to it. He’d forgotten about depression as he was externally warmed; maybe he wouldn’t freeze. “So you can do that?” Bazzard glanced at the other hired helpers that were just cleaning up the floor and food wondering if anyone else cared…but not too worried.

“I’m the god of sound in this small space. I do as I please with such!” The confident grin that Grimmjow wore on his face as he spread out his arms and open hands out to his sides was extremely cocky, like he truly thought highly of his musical powers…and maybe that was earned…but he just had so much energy…so much _heat_ … He really was a torch burning wild and hot, and he knew when someone else needed a share of the warmth. “And all you have to do is say ‘yes’.” He jabbed a finger at Bazz.

“Fine! Fine, but it better be something good.” Bazzard followed this new flame, trusting where it would lead him without knowing the destination exactly; was his spontaneous decision wise?

His audience of one had agreed! Grimmjow nabbed the lonely chair that had been by the door and walked with it to the front of the dancefloor and set it down in the dull and warm lights before the platform that was his stage. He patted its seat; it would probably be less awkward if this guy had a place to relax and listen. “Sit, sit! I won’t give ya hearing damage, I promise.”

Bazz was close and sat with his arms crossed like he wanted to be impressed.

“May I?” Grimmjow pointed at Bazzard’s phone and held out a hand. “I need to…do a little _research_ in your music library.” He was not worried about this.

Bazzard shrugged and unlocked his phone before unplugging the earbuds and handing it over. “You can’t just read it off my face?”

“Hush. Even if you’re a punk you might like some freaky shit.” Grimmjow’s eyes were mostly fixed on the phone but glanced at his seated audience with a grin.

Bazz returned the grin. “Well don’t delete anything!”

“I would never…delete anything _before_ teasing you about your music choices that is.” Grimmjow was kidding though. As they chuckled and the punk was patient and watched as the DJ went through his music library the man scrolled…and scrolled…and scrolled… “‘Kay,” Grimmjow announced after taking a couple of minutes to look through the music and handed the device back to its owner. “I’m gonna blow your mind.”

“You’re gonna try.” Hopelessly interested Bazz pocketed his phone and leaned back coolly on the chair with his hands in his pink slacks’ pockets. Just how good could this guy be at entertaining? Grimmjow’s ‘bedside manner’ was fucking phenomenal but there was more to this than that.

Grimmjow just rolled his eyes with a grin of his own and jogged to his platform and stepped up, plugging several things back into his turntable including his headphones. He had to find a few tracks that came to mind and make them accessible on his turntable. Thank hell he hadn’t hurried to take his boards and main mixer down.

The filtered sound of rock, punk rock predictably, came into the event hall’s speakers and as the filter was removed the track’s distorted and rugged vocals sounded familiar to Bazz but not too familiar for long. After about a minute and bobbing to the beat Bazzard’s ears were tricked into a smooth mesh of this punk song with some sort of weird opera track that matched the pitch and faster frequency of the punk track. It sounded like that opera singer was _meant_ to be singing accompaniment… As Bazz was picking up his jaw realizing that this was just too good, his ears got bent again as the DJ switched the frequency smoothly and the punk track slowed down for the opera one which was pushed forward a bit for a few key notes. Bazz couldn’t quite tell if this DJ had made one track louder or the other quieter all he knew was that no matter which one was leading they both sounded like they belonged together. This was some fucking good but seriously fucked up mixing and Bazz was kind of into it…this punk song was, after all, one of the ones under his ‘most frequent’ list on his phone and punk music wasn’t about perfect sound…it was about the coarse messages. Opera too was about sending a message in a loud way as well…

Grimmjow wasn’t just good-looking and charismatic, he was clever too, as intuitive DJs should be. From his CD turntable he mixed out the punk song while the opera carried on at a moderate level and put back in another punk song with a very slow level increase of which he eventually pushed forward over the opera singer as that’s level fell back and with some slight adjustment to the EQ was harmonic accompaniment again. He knew his tracks by ear and heart and when the new punk song had a complete rest he yanked out the opera track for a track with piercing female vocals before the punk song came back to life. He had to quickly synch them and as Grimmjow layered the female voice with the distorted growling of the punk song he created the same epic aura as the first. Something harsh with a beautiful and true touch. The juxtaposition of the two opposite energies, careful use of the filters, EQ and pitch fader, Grimmjow had also created a magnetic sound. This DJ didn’t mess around and kept up with his tracks and they stayed synched. Making music even more interesting was all the motive he needed to be inspired to do something hard…and Grimmjow’s audience, from glances, was captivated.

Bazzard’s body moved in his seat, his head bobbed, legs tapped and his feet stomped to the familiar punk songs he could mouth the words to and pleased by the epic accompaniments. After all…it was something new but beloved.

The other hired help around the hall had taken notice and some were dancing and having a bit of fun with the punk-opera-epic music set.

Grimmjow followed up with several other similar epic mixes that eventually got his intended audience out of his chair headbanging and the rest of the room dancing. He knew right then that Bazz was absolutely a punk; and how amusing it was to watch a guy in a pink suit bang his head around until the lapels flipped out and his mohawk was coming undone from its tie. Grimmjow was smiling, what a wonderful audience.

When the music was over it was too soon. It was just so good Bazz never wanted it to end but he was up out of his chair clapping and whistling with energy and rock fists to follow. “Fuck yeah!” Nothing was wrong with the world right now, gazing upon this torch, basking in its sound, heating him to the point of boiling.

The other hired help around the hall clapped too, in their ways, before turning back to their tasks after the welcome distraction for twenty minutes roughly.

Taking off his headphones Grimmjow bowed dramatically, happy that his audience had enjoyed his short and epic set. “A pleasure. Thank you, thank you so much.” After the funny end to the set Grimmjow was starting to pack up now with a little haste because he was tired and grinned as his singular eccentric audience came up to the stage and watched him unplugging cables and coiling them up and putting away his turntable, boards and a laptop.

“That was _really_ cool! …and weird, but thanks!” Looking still mussed from the headbanging Bazzard was trying to hold onto the fleeting energy of the music. Oh, how did you preserve such _forever?_ If only you could, he would have. He suspected you couldn’t though, only that it needed to be refreshed.

“You’re welcome.” Grimmjow knew that this guy had needed it and he was glad to see that something he could do had such a good impact. He also kind of liked this punk guy.

Bazz started to laugh, he started to laugh so much as he realized that the music’s satisfaction was leaving him rapidly that his face changed and he began to look distressed.

The DJ was struck with awkward concern and put a padded case down immediately to look the other man over as Bazzard’s laughter went from hysterical almost to very upset and into something like sobbing. He knew that this guy wasn’t thrilled by the reception before but they’d just had fun, what was all of this? “Fuck. Are you ok?”

Bazz tried to stop himself, he covered his mouth so that he didn’t make much noise. He crouched by the stage so that no one else could see him and he sobbed quietly until tears poured over the hand clamped on his mouth. He was embarrassing himself when someone had finally done something nice for him, someone that was way too good for him even. Not again. Strangely he wanted to tell Grimmjow all of these weird personal things to explain himself…like about his family, the lump in his chest, the fact that every night he went to sleep he damaged his teeth by grinding them so hard…the fact that he had no friends…the overwhelming stress of having no place in the world. All of the worst things about life suddenly had come rushing back into Bazz like a flood and he was helpless to stop it. He just cried as the pressure poured out of his soul. Realizing that none of what he wanted to talk about was appropriate to tell a stranger just made the sobbing punk ache so much more. He had no way to explain himself. Trying desperately to pull himself together Bazz sniffed hard just staring at the floor and the DJ’s shoes and knees as the other man crouched in front of him.

Grimmjow was a little stunned to be honest and unsure what to do. Here he was thinking he’d helped out but suddenly this punk guy had just broken down immediately after thanking him. What was he supposed to do with that? Grimmjow didn’t look around he just paid attention to Bazz and tested with a gentle hand on the other man’s arm then patted. “Whatever’s buggin’ ya, get it all out.”

“I’m sorry..!” Bazz’s masculine voice cracked through his hand as he forced himself not to look up.

Grimmjow smiled, a little nervously, but still smiled and took a break from his equipment and got Bazz a cup of water and them both some of the reception’s leftover food and sat down by the stage to eat with the punk in a pink suit. This guy was a bit thin from what he could tell anyway.

Unimaginably someone had the tolerance for him… Bazzard had calmed down in a minute or two, straightened his appearance a little and let the hopeless embarrassment slowly ease out of his system while they picked at their plates. His eyes felt so raw and his nose was stuffy but he had some food and water to help. He only realized how famished he was once these were presented. “What if life sucks and there’s nothing you can do about it?” Bazz prodded suddenly, not sure if it was wise but he had to say _something_.

Grimmjow chuckled while swallowing a chewed piece of chicken and shook his head, making sure his mouth was clear before he spoke back. “Is that you?”

“I’m sitting here a damn mess, what’d you think?!” Bazz chased small bits of food around on the plate with a fork. “Until you, tonight fucking sucked.”

“Why’d you come then?”

“They’re family.”

“They? Like party of importance ‘they’?” With sharp eyes Grimmjow watched Bazz staring at their plates then Bazz nodded unhappily. Grimmjow felt a sympathetic anger. “Wait and they stuck you by the fucking _door?_ ” The DJ’s masculine voice rumbled and his shaven face scrunched.

“Yeah. Last time it was in a dress and shoes, not my choice.”

Grimmjow was getting a general idea of this guy’s situation and it made him low-key angry… There had to be a good reason a wild sort of punk like Bazz hadn’t told family like that to fuck off. He shook his head in displeasure of what assholes could get away with. It had really seemed like Bazz was just part of the unrelated help by the way he was just off on his own the whole time. That fucking sucked. “Don’t put up with that crap.” Grimmjow could only assume that Bazz was a decent person that didn’t deserve this by the little he’d found out, but the guy had been polite enough to thank him and their conversation so far was really entertaining.

Bazzard sighed loudly without looking up from their plates yet. “I guess! I’m just…I don’t want to be disrespected but I’m kind of stuck with them for now.”

“Respectable way to maintain. I don’t mean to be weird or anything but would you like to just hang with me for a day or two? Put some good life back into you. I’ve got music and stuff I can show you so you won’t get bored.” Grimmjow could show Bazz how to mix, they could veg and watch movies, music videos and he’d even get them pizza and junk food shit. This wasn’t Grimmjow’s first time helping someone out and he wasn’t a creep about it fortunately for Bazz; he was _so ready_ to quickly mash together a plan because something just felt really wrong.

“Think I’m that fun to be around?”

“Could be. You wanna hang? No weird stuff intended.”

“Aw but I like weird stuff!”

“Careful what you wish for, man,” Grimmjow snickered.

On point Bazz rolled his eyes and talked briefly after shoveling some food in his mouth, “Eh, fuck that!” Caution to the wind. The men both snickered. Bazz swallowed some chewed food and watched his plate as a vegetable or two rolled around freely across it. “Regardless I don’t really think I can.” …but he appreciated the gesture. “But you’re really nice, dude!”

Internally Grimmjow sighed, oh well, but what more could he do than offer? “Thanks!” Well maybe some advice too though..? “You know…life’s like a mix, not all the tracks can be synched well.”

“What’d you do when they can’t?”

“Some of them are just great on their own, you know, like independent. Those you remix somehow and you can play them one at a time and they compliment and work together that way.”

Thinking about that sincerely Bazzard nodded, “That sounds hard.” Once upon a time he didn’t really mind difficulties, they were just things to get over…to forge you out of inspiring and inspired fire.

“It’s fucking worth it!” Grimmjow gently elbowed Bazz’s shoulder and went back to eating his own food.

Bazz chuckled, “You’re too damn thoughtful.” He kind of loved it. “Hey, do you ever off-road?”

Read ALL my fanfictions on ArchiveofOurOwn.org. Art via: DeviantArt.com/FicticiousDelicious or FicticiousDelicious.Tumblr.com


	5. Torch and a Flame

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_‘Why do dying leaves need to be so colorful? Do you know?’_

_‘There’s something to it.’_

_‘They’re vibrant, like you.’_

The masters of emotional disguise, hidden feelings. Men.

The ones that know, know too well, and do not look on…fighting the most soulless things.

You shall suffer in silence, forever abandoned…broken…so it seems.

In parting Bazzard had given Grimmjow a piece of paper with a time, a place and a date on it. This was a month away later into autumn’s transition to winter and up in the mountains through a trail between thick evergreen trees along an off-road trail fit for vehicle’s travel. It hadn’t snowed yet and some deciduous trees scattered around the mountains still had their fall leaves. Over some steep rocky up-sloping paths Grimmjow’s long-body four-wheeler rocked, the suspension supporting, being careful in his ascent not to break anything by going slow over the rough and unfamiliar terrain. The DJ wondered why the hell this had to be one of the harder trails around at the trailhead but it was so easy after… Oh well…nothing to be done except follow along like Bazz’s intriguing note said, and he had an official book of trail maps to tell him where he was going. He really expected to find Bazz out here in the crisp wilds of the mountains, a mix of tough trees and rough dirt ground, like a mysterious friend sharing a secret place through silly notes. Grimmjow liked a challenge sometimes. As the vehicle climbed out of a slippery river, flinging mud and rocks from the tires’ aggressive tread, Grimmjow cleared the next hill and saw a turn-around where the trail ended in a naturesque roundabout of untended grasses and low shrubs. Around the outer edge was all a ring of bright yellow deciduous trees with tire track marks worn down into ruts in a circle around the roundabout and no one else was waiting there…

Bazz had sent him out here, down this short but rugged trail to just _observe_ the nature? No way. Grimmjow seriously doubted that. The man drove his muddied vehicle up a short slope with a growl of the engine, stopped on a flat spot at the mouth to the roundabout and squinted, grabbing his map of trails he studied it to figure out if he’d fucked up somewhere and taken the wrong path. No…there were no other ways to go and this was obviously a somewhat traveled trail, just like he’d thought when he’d first started it. Was he late? He looked at the time. No… Putting the off-road trail book and his barely receptive cellphone down the blue-haired DJ rubbed his jaw in anxious thought and let his vehicle crawl into the roundabout then realized that in the untamed center there was an unnatural pile of stones there – in the dead center. A clue?! Curious and eager Grimmjow parked immediately and got out, nearly tripping on the worn ruts in the dirt, hurrying in his laced boots toward the pile with some cautious glances around himself. No one around… A white piece of paper in a plastic bag was under a smaller rock next to the unnatural pile of other rocks.

The blue-haired fellow crouched and lifted the lone rock and saw a white letter in plastic with ‘DJ’ written on the front in sloppy cursive laying against crunched grass and hurried to pick up and open the clear bag. This really was a clue! To what though? Eager for a treasure hunt Grimmjow looked around himself cautiously again and glanced at his still-running four-wheeler before trying to open and read the letter as he was crouched by shrubs and wild grasses.

_‘Dear Grimmjow, Thank you! Thank you for playing me fucking weird music, shooting some breeze and making me feel less horrible. I’ll never forget it and you’re stupid good at what you do. This trail was one I liked that not a lot of people come to anymore. Shame right? The silence makes music sound clearer here. I thought you might like it here and I wanted to tell you about what’s happened because I’m too much of a pussy to do it in person, and I kind of can’t. I’ll explain. My life’s in shambles and no matter how hard I try it doesn’t get better anymore. I would have liked to get to know you because you seemed to care about people as much as I did before I got to be a wreck but I’m exhausted and I don’t want you to see what I see. Thinking of your music helped me have some relief, thanks. It’s not enough to save me but know that it mattered to me a lot. I want to wish you a happy life and success and good shit. Sorry if the trip here was a drag or the weather was bad but I’m glad you made it. Come back any time you want, let me explain:_

_Probably the best thing is to have control over your own life so I’m taking mine. Sorry. I promise I’m not hanging from a tree around here or something. I’m somewhere else. I’ve just had enough. I did plan this before I met you, it’s not your fault. Wish the world was just different, and I don’t like to bitch but I don’t think it’ll change. I sent you out in the middle of nowhere for a reason. This way you can’t be a suspect, I don’t want the police to bother you cause you did nothing wrong, but I wanted to give you something: The one thing I did know about you is that you like your music, metal and rock, so on the back I listed some bands and songs. So you know I mean ‘thank you’ when I say it. Thank you. I’m sorry to get you involved, I just had to explain why what you did meant so much and if I died without doing that it’d be fucked. I don’t want you to find out from the news until after I do this. You know, I wanted to be your friend and know that you have my thanks forever. Visit me anytime. Forgive me. - Bazz’_

Of all the shit that letter could have said it had to be the _worst_ thing…no joyful treasure hunt or cheeky confession…just ‘thank you’ and goodbye. By the time Grimmjow was to the second half his face looked serious and at the end he was holding his head, eyes dripping with tears as the idling sound of his vehicle running fell away, forgotten. All of the sad songs Grimmjow’s head was trained to think of when he needed them rushed in at once and every ounce of sad sympathy he felt collided and they suddenly cancelled each other out…and he was left shocked. Grimmjow quickly turned the letter over and found as many band and song titles as could possibly fit written in the space. His hand against his head slid shakily down and gripped his jaw over his mouth as he started reading them. He didn’t want to believe this. Bazz had really nailed some of these recommendations… Falling out of shock was so painful. With a hiss of upset Grimmjow took a breath and blinked fluid from his eyes. When he’d read the last title, he looked up at the fall leaves of the yellow trees growing around the roundabout in the bright sun of afternoon. Grimmjow’s thoughts trembled, he was just trying to catch his breath. The wind blew the vibrant leaves with chilly mountain air and they rattled… The air here was thin but pure, he couldn’t blame the air for his lack of breath now but for some reason he was looking for something to blame… That dude was really gone…that nice eccentric guy that he thought was pretty cool and decent… Bazz was just _dead_. He’d…he’d wanted to help but Bazz had turned him down. Grimmjow’s jaw trembled below his hand and the other held onto the letter tightly, this fucking letter..! It was so horrible that it made him angry!

Suddenly Grimmjow wished he would have known, the severity, so he could maybe have tried harder and changed Bazz’s mind but it all seemed done. Rapidly this place on the trail felt morbidly sacred and Grimmjow looked at the unnatural stack of stones, figuring that Bazz had been here…had placed those stones…built his own marker. It was so surreal…so upsetting but so sacred…looking at the doings of a dead man, but Grimmjow had so much respect for that, even if it broke his heart he thought he would visit. Sadly he wished that they could have gotten to know each other better too.

Sat on the ground by the small pile of stones Grimmjow’s form trembled because his feelings about this were none to be contained. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually wept in sadness but he felt like his eyes had been dry for years. Eyeing blurry, as pooling tears fell without permission, the careful pile of stones Grimmjow gave a shivering sniff and held the letter open and was still trying to catch his breath. What should he do now? The last time he’d cried like this was probably just before he himself- He knew what it was like, to try to kiss it all goodbye because life was such a mess. What should he do now?! Grimmjow’s head tilted and as he watched the glassy tears leave his eyes while trying to contain them; his hands crumpled the letter tightly. Why did he care if he cried?! Why try to stop himself?

It could have ended there…

“You really do care…”

Grimmow’s eyes shot up and he sprang onto his feet from the grasses, backpedaling from a stranger’s voice approaching and nearly tripping over a shrub. In a few moments though it was clear and…he knew this person.

Bazz.

Hallucinations?! Grimmjow knew he could be fucked up himself sometimes but was this-

 _Bazzard_ in the _flesh_. That pink mohawk couldn’t be mistaken. The other man approached with dusty shoes and a slight hobble over the rugged slope into the tree-lined roundabout with an awkward expression as he saw the man ahead. He came right up to Grimmjow.

A speechless Grimmjow hit Bazz hard across the face when in range. Physical contact! Bazz was real! “ _F-Fuck you..!_ ” Was this some sick sort of test?! “You fucking make me think-”

Bazz recoiled. “Nnn! Hold on! It didn’t work!” He rubbed his face then quickly pulled down the edge of his sweater and undershirt’s collars where there was a long bruise around his neck; he was in a hurry to calm Grimmjow down. Seeing Grimmjow’s expression switch from confused anger to shock and relief a few tears dripped out of Bazzard’s eyes as he blinked them away. “It didn’t work. I…” This was so awkward.

Grimmjow’s face contorted into a mixture of pain and _relief_ as he was a little standoffish in shock again. “Fuck you _so much_ dude..! Fuck! _Why?!_ ” The way that Grimmjow said it and watched Bazz, as bleary tears starting to cloud his eyes again, contradicted words’ anger.

Bazz clung to a reaction like that as if it was life itself. Though he was shaken and was also sorry he’d put a decent man like Grimmjow through this. It had been desperate and foolish. The rope had snapped, and he had broken the box he’d stood upon with his fall. Laying on the floor cleared up his vision and Bazz had realized how foolish it was…he’d had help, _right there_ and he’d walked away from it, _almost forever_. Scared by his attempt he was terrified to die and not nearly as afraid to live right now. With clear thoughts of another eccentric bastard like himself out there so that he wasn’t alone, and instead of seeing happiness as something hopeless and fleeting, Bazz’s flame had reignited and returned. He didn’t try to rehang himself. “Yeah…I… I would have beat you here so that you didn’t have to read that… I’m sorry.” He’d hiked the whole trail here, it wasn’t easy, but a decent man would go the distance anyway.

Grimmjow’s standoffish posture stiffened a little, “I’m fucking angry at you…but glad. You fucking asshole, punkass son of a…”

Bazzard listened to a slew of creative curses, some of which he’d never heard before and he was pretty sure he’d never hear again – if he was lucky. He didn’t blame Grimmjow for being pissed off though; he deserved the scolding for this awkward situation. When Grimmjow was done cursing him out the two of them were still just standing apart staring at each other silently until Bazz couldn’t take it, “Is being friends out of the question? I seriously wasn’t trying to trick you, man.”

“The fucking kind of question is that?!” Grimmjow took time to swallow his upset over the huge scare and shifted his head side to side with uncertain eyes. “I know though. I wanted to get to know you.” Grimmjow looked upset in a way that he wished he could hide; after all he was only human too. The whiplash of disappointment and despair turned around so fast was still hard to get over.

“Wanted?”

“ _Want to_ ,” Grimmjow flatly corrected. Stupid semantics.

“I’m still alive dude, you _can!_ We gotta get to know each other now!” Bazz had put his final faith in someone that hadn’t shirked and that seemed good. “You were meant to bring me back from the dead! Why didn’t you ask why I didn’t tell you how I was really feeling that night?”

“Because I know why…” Grimmjow responded with force and sincerity; he looked Bazz in the eye.

Bazz searched the other man’s stern face. How could this guy know? Unless he’d been to the brink himself… The fact that Grimmjow honestly watched and said no more was plenty of proof. Reigning oneself in to die with dignity…denying anything you didn’t think you deserved… Bazzard realized their probable common ground and felt guilty for making his friend of sorts think of it. Where Bazzard had sworn he’d never touch another person with tenderness again- that he wouldn’t even allow himself to be touched again, he found himself stepping forward and reaching for Grimmjow’s chest.

Recomposing himself Grimmjow didn’t hit him away, he just let Bazz’s palm push against his chest nearly over his heart. What it was like to be at the brink and fall on the lucky side of the fence was almost impossible to say. Everyone was a little different, but you never stopped struggling after that point yet your life was _changed_. Maybe even more meaningful… If it got better you were twice as thankful for everything you had. The fabric of his thick coat pressed down and Grimmjow watched Bazzard just stand there content to touch him in that unusual way. It was like this Bazz guy was so unfamiliar with a normal approach that he wasn’t even sure how to react; in its unique way that made this interaction just fine. Now he was sure Bazz wasn’t a hallucination.

Bazz was enjoying the actual warmth of pressing his hand against the clothing over Grimmjow’s chest, even his eyes were trained down and he smiled lightly. He was just having a sentimental moment, out of all the crass ones in his life.

“Does it hurt to swallow?”

Bazzard’s eyes snapped up with a flustered look about himself, “ _Huh?_ ” His hand pulled back but he didn’t back away.

Grimmjow’s eyes and expression relaxed as he glanced between the edge of the bruise on Bazz’s neck to the other man’s eyes. “ _Food_.” Not something strange. He cocked a brow up and as soon as Bazzard looked like he understood Grimmjow grinned lightly. “As in, ‘are you hungry?’”

Having hiked the entire trail here with no more than a water bottle and having eaten a little in the morning, Bazzard was. “Well yeah, man!”

“Then let’s get something to fucking eat. This is my treat.” Crediting some of why they were leaving to restlessness, before they left Grimmjow caught Bazz kicking over the grave marker pile of stones and sighed at the punk as Bazzard carefully climbed into the passenger’s side of his vehicle. “Defiling your own grave?”

“It’s not a grave. There’s nothing to bury. By the way, I think you broke my face,” Bazz was remarking as he buckled in because where Grimmjow had hit him was smarting. Now he’d have another bruise. Great. …but where the hell did Grimmjow get all this kindness from?

“Yeah?” Grimmjow was into the driver’s seat and putting the vehicle in gear to drive around to head back up the trail. “You’re still talking…so it can’t be _that_ broken.”

“Still a little mad huh?” When Grimmjow was silent for a few minutes Bazz watched his lap and the nature outside as the DJ put the vehicle back in gear and drove around the roundabout and carefully down the slope toward the riverbed to follow the trail back. He didn’t deserve a horrible life but he had deserved that whack for putting undue strain on a decent guy like Grimmjow. They were both decent men, just cut from more intense cloths than a lot of others would be.

Grimmjow got the vehicle across the slow current river and up onto dry land again, then he relaxed a little more as they traveled back up the trail and under the shade of the evergreens. No, he wasn’t really mad anymore. “This just hits so close to home that it takes a bit to settle in. Could have really lost you and that bothers me!”

Now that possessive sort of way that Grimmjow spoke about him was like hearing old voices of the past, when Bazzard did have friends they loved him.

“Stupid _git_.”

Now that was like no one but Grimmjow to say. Bazz chuckled. “Is that what you really should say to someone who almost gave up?”

Grimmjow’s vibrant eyes glanced over as the vehicle rocked in its gradual travel over the rocky dirt path of the trail; the shade presented by the trees made the temperature a little cold. “You’re a punk, not a pussy.” One of the most gritty and honest lifestyles, rough and tumble. His tone of voice was lighter and he didn’t look irritated. “If you weren’t ready to hear that you wouldn’t have come out here, so I’m not treating you any different than I would since I met you, until I know you better that is.”

Bazz would play into the mixture of sincerity and humor. “Getting to know like dicks in butts or getting to know like talking?”

The look on Grimmjow’s face as he got the chance to glance at Bazz for an extra second was reasonably, humorously freaked out. “UUMM.”

“Ok, ok. Never mind that, ask me if it hurts to swallow again…”

“Why?”

“Do it.”

“Does it hurt to swallow?”

“Nah, I practice with hotdogs.” Was this _flirting?!_ It was humorously bad whatever it was, but Bazz wasn’t ashamed either way.

As Grimmjow had to remind himself to close his mouth the man eventually did and started to chuckle his ass off. “Can you even make that joke?!”

“Just did.”

Grimmjow’s tone turned incriminating, “So _you_ like _dick?_ ”

“Dick jokes at least…do _you?_ ” This was flirting.

Grimmjow sighed and rolled his eyes. He was beginning to like Bazz more but he wasn’t going to kiss and tell so soon.

That reaction was enough to sate Bazz. “Oh ho~ Just expect weird shit like this at all times, now that you’ve properly fixed my attitude. I blame _you_ for my recovery, whatever you are. Metalhead or rocker, my subculture cousin. I know you can take a joke. And I’ll try not to be disappointing again.” As was his actual nature. Bazz relaxed back in his seat as he looked over and monitored Grimmjow’s split attention – between his terrible jokes and the dirt road littered with rocks and some fallen trees.

“I’ll take that blame… Just don’t pull this shit again, or I’ll actually bring you back from the dead and kill us both.”

“ _Daaaark_. Were you gonna cry your eyes out over me in the shower or something?” Bazz needed to know.

“Less pathetic. Skinny dipping in a lake of tears,” Grimmjow smirked…and almost swerved the vehicle as Bazz licked a hand and slapped it on the back of one of his against the steering wheel. Remembering that Bazz never seemed like he knew how to make normal physical contact Grimmjow looked again humorously traumatized but he felt like he should have expected this. Bazzard was surely weird people, but good people.

“Ok. Where’s my stupid note?”

Wiping his hand on his pants Grimmjow leaned awkwardly as he drove along the trail with one hand on the wheel and eyes mostly ahead and pulled the crinkled suicide note out of a pocket. “Don’t you get rid of that.”

Bazz folded the paper multiple times, ready to tear it up. “Why not?”

“Because I still need the music stuff you scribbled on the back!”

“Oh.” Something about that greatly agreed with Bazz – waste not or just very edgy. “We’re going to be such _good_ friends!” Bazz turned on the vehicle’s stereo deck with a little button pushing, which only had a CD slot, and started twisting around in his seat looking for CDs.

“What are you doing?” Grimmjow squinted amusedly.

 _“_ Never you mind! I’m just…trying to raid…your musical stash…” Bazz was leaned forward in the seat and reaching under it.

Grimmjow slowed down so bumps wouldn’t club Bazz’s mohawked head against the dash and tapped Bazz on the shoulder then pointed out the glovebox where Bazzard was pleased to find CDs!

Tunes jamming loudly with the rocking four-wheeler’s windows down and Bazzard started to yell, “ _Onward!_ Onward to food, my noble friend!” A decent punk regaining his original verve and vibrancy for life, entertaining a new friend. Though not all see such recovery, here: a lucky punk no longer alone. One to escape the fold. Wanted and wonderfully weird…Bazzard was never an easy man to defeat, dangerous and dominant in his ways, and thanks to Grimmjow’s encouragement he’d likely never sink below himself again. Now it was time to put the ache of the past behind and move forward.

You shall suffer in silence, forever abandoned…broken…so it seems…

…but we don’t bury live men here.

And the ones that know, know too well.

So they heal the broken, and put them on their way.

Read ALL my fanfictions on ArchiveofOurOwn.org. Art via: DeviantArt.com/FicticiousDelicious or FicticiousDelicious.Tumblr.com

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it the end? Is it really?  
> This wasn't a light read so if you made it all the way through that's good. I expect this story to be a sleeper at most. It's written from/inspired by the experiences, problems and pain of men (many) so it's not exactly happy or pleasant, probably flat out disagreeable and/or incoherent to some people.
> 
> So why write it? Because experiences, problems and pain mean something.  
> This cold, meaningful tale is a glimpse into the world of men where when you're breaking down sometimes people just throw you away because you don't do anything for them. To learn: Don't give your whole soul away but be good to people; you never know exactly where they're at.
> 
> This was a happy ending, but sadly a lot of exiled guys don't get one of those.


End file.
